Confessions, OR: Tough Day at the Office
by OfficialQueenS7
Summary: Dean's had a rough couple of days, and it turns out angels give really good massages to sore lil hunters. Also: confessed feelings.


Third in the Dean/Cas fluff miniseries. As per usual, I don't adhere strictly to canon. These little stories are for pure enjoyment and good feels Again, thanks go to Hugglewolf for the lovely prompt.

SPN

Dean tossed the slick, blood-encrusted knife into the kitchen sink. _I'll wash that before Sammy gets home_ , he thought. Even his mental voice sounded exhausted.

He stumbled toward his room in the bunker, stripping through his layers as he went. A boot in the kitchen. Second boot and his jacket at the start of the hallway. Top flannel peeled off- hang it on the doorknob. Middle flannel- who cares, toss it somewhere.

Finally, only his white undershirt, faded jeans, and socks remained. He fell on his face on the bed, legs sticking straight out over the side from the knees down. He'd been going for nearly forty-eight hours and couldn't remember the last time he'd been so tired. His eyes drifted slowly closed, but from somewhere by the door he heard- or rather _felt_ \- the air pressure change, with an inaudible _fwoomp_.

The door clicked shut with a soft _snick_.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied, his face smushed into the blankets. His lips barely moved. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I sensed your emotional distress and came as soon as I could. Are you alright?" Cas stated in what was, for him, a rush. He took a step closer, his blue eyes bright with concern.

"I'm tired, Cas. And everything hurts."

The angel slowly removed his trenchcoat, folding it carefully and setting it on the lone chair in the room. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed, sitting rather uncertainly beside Dean.

"What're you doing?"

"Be quiet, Dean."

Cas dug his elbow into Dean's aching shoulderblades, making circles over the hunter's sore muscles. Then his long fingers massaged along Dean's spine, rubbing away all of the aches and pains from his back.

Cas stopped. Eventually. It might have been hours or days later. Dean felt incredibly relaxed, but he made a soft sound of protest as the soothing touches went away, and Cas smiled to himself, reaching out unthinkingly to brush a lock of dark brown hair out of the other man's face.

Dean opened one very green eye and fixed his gaze on the angel.

"Cas..." he said, his voice cracking a little. Castiel looked at him, letting, for once, the emotions he felt- the _care_ he felt- for Dean show on his handsome features. Dean cleared his throat a little. "Thanks. That...that was nice."

"Did it help, Dean?" Cas asked in his deep, resonating voice. Dean nodded slightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, man, it helped a _lot_. Did you do your healy mojo thing?"

Cas gave his dark head a miniscule shake. "No, not this time. I am told that I have 'magic fingers'...whatever that means."

"You've been told right. Wait...uh, told by _who_?"

Cas looked embarrassed. "Um. No one. It is not of import."

Dean lifted his head a bit and shifted to his side, gazing intently at the angel, studying him carefully, marginally more awake now.

"Cas...?"

"Dean. They meant...well, not _nothing_ , but certainly far less than..." Cas' voice drifted away and ended on a sigh, and he glanced sheepishly into Dean's eyes, but couldn't quite seem to hold the look for long.

Dean's heart leapt into his throat and tried to pleasantly strangle him. He swallowed hard, his chiseled jaw clenching. _Why_ was he feeling like this _every time_ Cas got near him? _Every time_ those blue eyes of his looked in Dean's direction. When Cas touched him to impart healing, his flesh tingled and grew hot, no matter how many layers he wore.

The last time he'd felt like this, Jo had still been alive. God, Dean missed her.

Cas was watching the changing expressions flit across Dean's face, and he was utterly fascinated. Of course, he found all humans interesting- but none so much as Sam and Dean Winchester. And his feelings concerning Dean...well. Those had always been complicated. Even before he had raised Dean from the pain and darkness and confusion that was perdition, when he had first been shown the vision of this man whom he was meant to save, and that man's purpose; even then, he had felt something.

Yet, angels were not known for their high emotional faculties.

But Castiel, against those odds, had begun falling in love with this particular human even before his hand had closed upon Dean's flesh.

And then, when he had shown himself to them in that dilapidated church, and Dean's angry, frightened eyes had first met Cas' own baby blues, the angel had only one thought.

 _This one is mine_.

He looked into those same eyes now, and very slowly, tentatively, his hand floated across the blankets and touched the back of Dean's hand, the pulse there both pounding and quivering, fluttering beneath Cas' sensitive fingertips. He stroked his fingers down that hand, cupping them into Dean's palm.

The man's own fingers twitched as he allowed them to relax, taking Cas' hand in his own. Dean swallowed hard again and sighed deeply, his eyes meeting those of his angel with quiet fire.

"Cas, I...this is new to me, man. I don't understand it, I mean...at _all_."

"Nor do I," Cas replied. "However, I know that I care for you. Deeply. But as to what that means...I, too, am unsure. Perhaps we should learn...together?"

Dean gave him that charming half-smile and squeezed Cas' fingers with his own.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That sounds nice."

SPN


End file.
